


conditioned to hatch butterflies

by jaqhad (kyrilu)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Poe Dameron (Comics)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Femslash, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22331293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/jaqhad
Summary: Suralinda tries to write a story.
Relationships: Suralinda Javos/Jessika Pava
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	conditioned to hatch butterflies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: _Jess/Suralinda where Suralinda is trying to put together a story (for recruitment or resistance propaganda or whatever) and presses Jess too hard about why she joined up and her painful backstory and it requires some making up._
> 
> Thank you so much to the prompter, you're an inspiration. 
> 
> Featuring brief mentions of Finn/Poe.

“I miss him,” the mechanic says, her voice slightly quavering. “I wish we’d been on the same escape transport. It seems so unfair that I survived the loss of the fleet, while he didn’t.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your fiancé,” Suralinda says, as gently as she can. “I really am.”

“I just want his dads to hear what happened to him,” she says. “They’re Corellian engineers, trying to keep their heads down, and I don’t want to get them in trouble by contacting them… Theo said they worried about him when he took off to join the Resistance. He was here in the beginning, d’you know, recruited by Captain Seastriker. I didn’t join up ‘til later.”

Suralinda reaches out and gives her a pat on the shoulder. “Theo was brave. A true rebel until the end. Thanks for telling me your story, Peet.”

Peet nods and goes back to work, helping build the foundations of the generator systems on their new headquarters on Ajan Kloss.

Suralinda lets out a deep breath and saves the recording on her datapad. With most of the Resistance finally in one place and setting up base, she’s been gathering these stories the entire day, looking to create a project centered around the _Raddus_ disaster.

She’s listening and relistening to recordings in her tent, drinking a cup of caf and brainstorming the best way to edit them together, when Jess storms in.

“What the pfassk are you doing?” Jess says. “I’ve heard you’ve been ambushing survivors of the _Raddus_ all day. Stomeroni was crying during flight exercises this morning.”

“Starck? He told me about Tallissan Lintra.”

“ _Tallie_ ,” Jess says, emphasizing the pilot’s nickname, “doesn’t need her memory to be stomped on by your hackneyed PR efforts, Sura. This is cruel. We’re starting to move on from the _Raddus,_ new base and new recruits and new ships, and you can’t just bring it up out of nowhere. You barely knew them!”

 _I once was on refresher cleaning duty with Theo Meltsa,_ Suralinda almost says, because there was a time when General Organa didn’t trust her and assigned her to mind-numbing work alongside some Resistance members who were punished for minor infractions.

Apparently, Theo had once missed early morning PT due to a nasty hangover. But she knows that’s _definitely_ not the right thing to say.

“I’m trying to honor their memory,” Suralinda says. “A lot of the survivors want a proper obituary or memorial of their teammates on the HoloNet. I think it’s important, so the galaxy knows that we don’t forget, even while we’re moving on and rebuilding. It’s good for recruitment.”

“’Good for recruitment’?” Jess repeats. “So, you’re not thinking of them at all. This is a glossy publicity campaign for you. We’re fighting a war, not trying to get the most views.”

Jess really needs to stop acting so sanctimonious.

In the moment, she reminds Suralinda of the loonies who sent holomail to the _Galaxy Beacon_ , spewing conspiracy theories and arguing against basic facts. Yeah, right, the Emperor totally wasn’t dead and the-then Senator Leia Organa was certainly having an incestuous affair with her Jedi brother Luke Skywalker.

Bristling, Suralinda exclaims, “We win the war when we get more people! When we get more planets and governments and fighters and civilians behind us. Don’t pretend like you don’t have your own story to tell.”

She goes on, her eyes narrowed, “I know that you lost friends on the _Raddus_ , too, Jess. Your friend Zari, and wasn’t Captain Gawat like a mentor to you? And, let me know if I’m wrong, though I don’t think I am, but you have your own reasons and motivations for joining the Resistance. With all your neurotic control freak X-wing issues and all the _nightmares_ —you might think I’m tone-deaf, but I’m not deaf, I share this tent with you, and you’re crying all the time—”

“Shut up, Suralinda,” Jess says.

That… might have been too far. Suralinda freezes, bunches her hands into fists, long nails digging into blue skin.

“Jess,” Suralinda says, “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it, Suralinda. Finish working on your story.” Jess turns away, her dark hair rustling as she turns and exits the tent.

Shit.

* * *

Black Squadron goes on patrol the next day to make sure the system’s clear of any First Order intruders, and it’s a disaster.

Jess speaks to Suralinda across the comms in a short, clipped tone, the atmosphere tense even through the transmission. Usually, she ribs Suralinda during these routine missions: Suralinda’s singing in the sonic that morning; Suralinda stealing her caf thermos; Suralinda forgetting to update her astromech's software, as if that’s a problem when Jess is the one with the great destroyer track record.

Seemingly aware that something was going on, Snap and Karé stop flirting once they leave Ajan Kloss’ atmosphere, and Suralinda nearly enters in location coordinates incorrectly until her astromech catches her.

As they head back to base, Poe privately comms her: “Suralinda, I need to talk to you.”

“Got it, Commander,” she says. Great. She feels like a child caught eating a sweet-sand cookie before dinner.

Poe invites her to a game of Dejarik on the _Millennium Falcon_ , which, despite the circumstances, is pretty cool. She knows the _Falcon_ ’s got a long interesting history behind it. The _Falcon_ is parked between two trees in the jungle, currently grounded for the moment, and Suralinda’s fingers itch for a holocam.

“Rey still won’t let me pilot the _Falcon_ ,” Poe says, shaking his head. “But she’s fine with me borrowing the Dejarik board from time to time, since I’m doing my best to sharpen my holochess skills.”

“For Finn?” Suralinda asks.

Poe gives her a look. “To beat Chewbacca. Who’s cheating. Me and Finn are trying to figure out how he does it. This board’s probably got some kind of trick.”

“Right,” Suralinda says. “That makes sense.” So, for Finn.

Poe powers up the board, prompting the virtual creatures to emerge. He makes the first move. “What’s going on with you and Jess?”

“We got in a bit of an argument yesterday,” Suralinda says, nudging her K’lor’slug forward.

“Does this have to do with the _Raddus_ remembrance project I heard about yesterday?”

Suralinda winces. Because of the role he played in the mutiny, she thought it would be prudent to avoid talking with him and the others involved in undermining Vice-Admiral Holdo’s command.

“Kind of,” Suralinda admits. “Harsh words were said.”

Another look, but much sharper.

“Harsh words were said… by me.” As a journalist, she seriously should be smarter about the use of the dreaded passive voice.

Poe says, “Did you apologize?”

“I tried?"

“Sura.”

“Alright, fine,” Suralinda says, directing her Kintan Strider forward and attacking Poe’s Ghhk. “I didn’t really say sorry, but it’s frustrating, alright? Because I _do_ care about the Resistance. I haven’t been around forever, but I’ve flown with you guys for a ton of missions—hell, me and Jess both saved each other from getting decapitated by Nasz’s thugs—and it pisses me off that she treats me like an untrustworthy outsider mynock. I’d die for her like I’d die for you or anyone else in the squadron.”

Poe moves his Ghhk to the side. “You need to tell her that, Suralinda. But you’ve got to watch what you say, too, and not just shoot off your mouth.”

Suralinda rolls her eyes. “You’re telling me this? _You?_ Did I imagine all the times you were an insubordinate shit to Major Deso in the Navy?”

“You’re not wrong,” Poe says. “Since then, I think I’ve learned to listen and, hopefully, make better decisions.”

He’s not just talking about the Navy, and Suralinda sighs, because, yeah, resurrecting the _Raddus_ issue is tough and complicated. Several Resistance members she’s interviewed don’t have positive things to say about Poe, and she gets it.

In a lot of ways, he’s the same flyboy she met in the Navy, waxing poetic about the stars, except now he’s been handed authority of a rebellion movement and his single-minded impulses can get the worse of him. She’s the same, except it’s journalism for her, desperately hoping the right words will change the world -- change the right minds -- change the right hearts.

And it should be stupid, shouldn’t it? The right story won’t magically make the First Order un-occupy planets and moons. The right story won’t clear the skies of polluted exploited lands, or bring back dead people and systems, or make Kylo Ren hang up his lightsaber.

Yet it’s what she can do – it’s what she can give – and in the face of tyranny and darkness and despair, she wants to write.

“I’ll talk to her,” Suralinda says, quietly. “She’s not just my teammate, she’s my friend, and I owe it to her to be better and prove that I’m not some heartless hack.”

Besides, it’s not fair that Black Squadron is suffering for this, too, team cohesiveness frayed and awkward. They’re only alive now because they’ve consistently watched each other’s backs by trusting each other and communicating.

Poe smiles. “See? It’s not that hard. By the way, I recommend actually clearing your project with General Organa and making this an official thing, so there won’t be as much, uh, surprise.”

“I was going to, but I wanted to see if there was some interest first,” Suralinda says. “Sorry.”

“Say that to the general, not me,” Poe says. He maneuvers his Houjix forward and knocks out Suralinda’s Grimtaash, her only remaining piece. “Looks like I win.”

“Damn.” It’s not like it’s an evenly matched game, though, because Suralinda hasn’t played Dejarik in ages, and Poe’s clearly been getting a lot of practice. “Rematch?”

“Maybe later. Finn’s coming over to play a game after he finishes lunch.”

Suralinda has to twist her very long tongue into a half-knot to stop herself from teasing him again.

* * *

After their argument yesterday, Jess hadn’t returned to their shared tent. Suralinda had woken up that morning, Jess’ cot still empty, wondering where she had slept that night. Now, as night falls and Jess remains missing, Suralinda searches through various tents, peeking through the flaps—she learns to stomp loudly after interrupting Snap and Karé during a moment.

Jess isn’t in any of the tents, nor in the cavern the Resistance has been using as their control room.

When Suralinda realizes where Jess is, she wants to kick herself for her idiocy because it’s so _obvious_.

Jess is slumped asleep against her X-wing, oil-stained fingers curled against one wing, her other hand clutching a wrench. She’s a crumpled mess, still wearing her flightsuit and dark circles under her eyes, and Suralinda wagers she hasn’t even eaten dinner.

Suralinda crouches downward and watches as Jess breathes, her chest rising and falling. Then Jess murmurs, shifts, uneasy, and, oh, it’s predictable as sunrise over a searing desert planet, as moonrise over cool ocean planets. More nightmares, again.

“Jess,” she says, touching her by the shoulder. “Jess, you should sleep in your actual _cot._ ”

Jess’ eyes open, and for a minute, she looks… terrified, but then her fingers atop the X-wing spasm, settle, and she looks at Suralinda and says, “Sura--?”

“Yup,” Suralinda says. “Hey.”

Jess lets out a shaky, bitter laugh. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have your story to work on--?”

“I’m sorry,” Suralinda says. “I just want to say—I was upset because I felt like you didn’t trust me or felt like I was really part of the Resistance. You were right, though—I didn’t handle it well. And I shouldn’t have said that to you. I need…to not poke at your trauma, or anyone else’s, because it’s a shitty karking thing to do.”

“Trauma,” Jess says, snorting softly. “Whatever this is. Did you know that the Jedi girl Rey offered me the opportunity to pilot the famous _Millennium Falcon_ , after I told her how much I fangirled Luke Skywalker as a kid? She told me it would be a great chance to one-up Poe. But can you believe that I told her no, because I can’t—I _can’t_ — can you believe that, Sura, only I would be that screwed up, the _Millennium Falcon_ —"

Jess drops the wrench in her hand, letting it fall to the ground with a clatter.

Immediately, Suralinda has her arms around Jess, tugging her into an embrace. “It’s okay. Jess, it’s okay. You’re safe—your ship’s safe—and everything’s fine.” At least for now, she thinks, grimly, at least here on Ajan Kloss.

Jess shudders against her, and Suralinda exhales, breathes, running her fingers through the jet-black curtain of Jess’ hair.

They sit like that for a while, curled in each other’s arms, until Jess disentangles herself and looks at Suralinda with weary eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Suralinda says again, eventually. “I don’t know what happened, and you don’t need to tell me. I know I can be overenthusiastic about journalism, and sometimes we don’t get each other, but I’ll try and I’ll always have your back, okay?”

She continues, fiercely, “I think it’s amazing that… whatever happened to you, you can still fly like you do and you can modify your ship like no one else. You don’t need to pilot that garbage old ship to prove you’re worthy of the legends, because you’re already there. You’re _Black Squadron._ ”

Jess laughs, and it’s a nice laugh this time, low and sweet. “I think Han Solo just yelled at you from the afterlife.”

“Who the kriff cares what a dead guy thinks?” Suralinda says. “C’mon, let’s go back to our tent; I’ve got some leftover rations stashed.”

“Okay,” Jess says. They’re holding hands as they walk through the moonlit forest. “Yeah. Dinner sounds good.”


End file.
